


Forgive, Yet Never Forget

by Kalee60



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bottom Bucky Barnes, But sort of in the same universe, Canon-Typical Violence, Canonical Character Death, Denial of Feelings, Dom/sub Undertones, Explicit Sexual Content, Fix-It, Friends to Lovers, Grief/Mourning, Internal Conflict, M/M, Not Avengers: Endgame (Movie) Compliant, POV Steve Rogers, Redemption, Self-Doubt, Steve Rogers Needs a Hug, sex to erase pain
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-15
Updated: 2020-08-15
Packaged: 2021-03-05 22:35:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,664
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25912948
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kalee60/pseuds/Kalee60
Summary: Steve Rogers was a broken man. He'd failed to keep his friends alive, had lived through the snap, the blip, Thanos, whatever that torrid time of his life full of blood, fear and pain had been.Yet the one good thing to come out of the worst years of his life - he had Bucky back. And a head full of issues along with it.Issues that meant the only way Steve could get out of his overbearing mind is to fall into oblivion by paying one night stands, use people he never had to see again, people he couldn't let down.So what happens when Bucky accosts him after a mission and wants answers, wants only to help Steve?Can an old weary supersoldier, whose self worth is nonexistent, start to heal and find happiness, when he truly believes he doesn't deserve it?
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers
Comments: 72
Kudos: 262
Collections: Bucky Barnes Bingo 2020, Stucky Bingo 2020





	Forgive, Yet Never Forget

**Author's Note:**

  * For [darter_blue](https://archiveofourown.org/users/darter_blue/gifts), [NoStringsOnMe](https://archiveofourown.org/users/NoStringsOnMe/gifts).



> Hey all - so a slight detour from my AU Fics this week to bring you something a little different for me, a little more angsty than I've ever gone before… (proceed knowing there is no light-heartedness nor disaster idiots below… eep - I don't know myself!)
> 
> My gorgeous support writers [ darter_blue](https://archiveofourown.org/users/darter_blue/pseuds/darter_blue) and [ NoStringsOnMe](https://archiveofourown.org/users/NoStringsOnMe/pseuds/NoStringsOnMe) and I decided to have a little prompt game, we each wrote down the ending to a fic for each other, just the last paragraph, then we had to build a story to meet that ending. The first story was smut, the second fluff and here is my attempt at angst - go check theirs out if you haven't! Thanks Ali for your gorgeous brutal words - I hope you enjoy how I wrangled them into a fic!
> 
> It's an AU of sorts, canon divergent, so some things that occurred in Endgame are still true but Steve's story is completely different.
> 
> This also covers off two of my Bingos:  
> Bucky Barnes Bingo - Y5 - Through the scope  
> Stucky Bingo - C1 - Worthy
> 
> Enjoy!

Steve wiped the sweat from his brow, the stickiness confusing him a second until he saw the bright smear of crimson on his wrist, just above the filthy leather glove. Blood. Not his.

His fist slammed back into the enemy, holding them by the scruff of their uniform, the telltale Hydra motif on their chest doused in thick red, the parody of a face stared back at him, eyes wide and motionless, partially unconscious, yet Steve didn’t stop; fist flying fast and hard until he heard a sickening snap of cartilage.

“Steve!” A voice called him from far away and he looked up to see Natasha. 

No. 

Not Natasha. Never Natasha.

Sharon grasped his elbow, yet he continued to pummel into his prey, one of the many men that had hurt her - his friend, his widow. The slate still not clean, still dirty, not corrected. He had to wash away the sins, the guilt. He _had_ to.

“Barnes,” he heard Sharon call from far away, then strong arms wrapped around him from behind, familiar and usually comforting, arms he’d craved around his person for more years than he could count. But he didn’t stop, couldn’t, tried to shrug them off and the strength of their grip faltered as Steve continued to rain down blows. 

The sharp dig of metal into his bicep, and the husked ‘Stevie’ in his ear slowing him enough that he blinked back into himself, the limp body under his hands horrifying as he looked, really looked at what he’d done. He dropped the body immediately. They’d survive, but no thanks to Captain America. 

Guilt and fear barrelled through his chest, up into his throat and he rose unsteadily to his feet, dry-retching into a corner of the warehouse that was soiled, filthy and smelt of others ejecting their stomach contents a thousand times over before him. The same familiar touch of earlier rubbed circles on his bruised and sore spine. He couldn’t keep doing this. It had to end, or he’d end himself.

“I’m fine,” he snapped, and the hand stopped, disappeared and he shut his eyes, wanting to apologise, but having no right to ask for forgiveness. He’d let them down. All of them. He deserved no kindness.

“We should go,” Sharon said quietly, a tone of uncertainty in her voice and Steve inhaled deeply, ignoring the acidic tang of shame lingering in his nostrils. He opened his eyes properly, turning to face her, to offer comfort, not that he had any left to give. Sharon’s skin was pale, eyes wide as she stared at Steve, then flicked them towards Bucky who stood too close, yet too far away from him. Had he turned into a monster? It sure felt that way.

“Pal? You ready?” Bucky asked, voice low, calm and Steve almost laughed hysterically at the absurdity of the situation.

Bucky, his best friend, the man he loved more than life itself, not that he’d ever said those words out loud, was asking if _he_ was okay, if _he_ was ready to go. The situation was dire if Bucky was using that particular voice on him. It sobered him enough to give a grin, though the reaction from Sharon, not what he’d hoped. She flinched and he belatedly understood his face was covered in blood, his white toothy smile no doubt grotesque, maniacal, and Christ he needed a shower. And a fuck. Hard and mindless. 

Just to feel something again. 

They made it to the quinjet with no conversation, though he could sense Bucky and Sharon sharing glances, and if anything it wound the damn ball of tightness in his chest even tighter. He was alright, he was keeping it together, up to the point Natasha’s smirking face slammed into his mind. The way after a mission she’d tease him, tired and done, but always stepping up, ready to take on the world for her friends. Her family.

Scrubbing a hand over his face, he pushed her lilting laugh and quick wit from his mind. Then reaching for his phone, Steve pulled up the App he preferred. He always sought the first person available; someone he could control for a moment in time, someone who by the end of his paid hour, he could watch walk away, safe, secure and alive.

Steve knew he had problems. He just chose to ignore them.

Sensing eyes on his person, he looked over to find Bucky frowning at him, and Steve averted his gaze with a small glare.

“Don’t judge me on this. Not you.”

He heard the exhale through Bucky’s teeth, and looked down at who he’d matched with. Dave, brunette, muscled, bottom, enjoyed being tied up. Sounded exactly like what he needed. Steve flicked off a message and placed the phone back in his pocket.

Bucky’s blue eyes were still on him, assessing, but there was also a modicum of regret, of something else that Steve was too tired to work through.

“I’m not judging, but it’s not healthy, let me -”

“- no.” Steve bit back, then shut his eyes feigning rest. He couldn’t do this again with Bucky. He wasn’t looking for salvation, for acceptance of who he was. Steve didn’t need vindication, he needed to pay. To not allow himself to have the one thing he wanted, he didn’t deserve that. Not when his friends, not when Nat was gone.

How did people move on? He didn’t know. But when he heard a small notification ping, he checked to see Dave was available that night, and confirming details, he turned side on to Bucky, so as not to endure the heavy stare laden with pity anymore.

Steve Rogers was a damaged man, and Bucky deserved better than that.

Everyone deserved better than Steve’s best. Because when it came down to it - it just wasn’t good enough. 

  
  


The debrief went exactly as Steve expected. Fury rode their asses, yelling that they’d missed another Hydra sect nearby due to incompetence, an outcome Steve was intimate with, and were told to wash up, not go far, and be ready to fly out the next morning.

Steve intended not to sleep or rest in that space between. 

Bucky caught his arm on their way out the conference room and Steve tried to shrug it off, but couldn’t. The metal arm, a blessing and a curse.

“Steve, talk to me.”

“About?” he gritted, looking down at his hands, at the grime and blood caked under his nails; wondering if he'd ever truly be clean of it. He’d best deal with the visual mess at least before meeting up with Daniel, or was it Doug?

“Today.” Bucky said, exasperation riding his tone and Steve began to walk, all but dragging Bucky with him. They could walk and talk, he didn’t have time to dally, his mind already on conquering other things that night, of washing away his ineptitude for a moment in time. It struck him suddenly, oddly, that he’d also missed his session with his psychologist that week, or was that three sessions now?

“We got in, got the intel, I see no problems.”

“So what? You see nothing wrong with today. At all?” Bucky’s tone had taken on a dangerous cadence and Steve snapped his eyes to him; not really wanting to, but also needing to see Bucky's anger, his disgust in Steve’s actions that day. In Steve's mind, the Hydra agent eating through a straw for the rest of his existence was a small price to pay for the pain they’d inflicted over the years.

But he sucked in a silent shock of air when he saw none of the loathing and failing that usually stared back from his own eyes in the mirror. Bucky looked - tired. Concerned. And something else Steve couldn't name, didn't want to.

Through the nothing and bleakness of his emotions, Steve felt the smallest twinge of regret that he’d got Bucky back from the brink of madness, only to descend into his own, leaving his best friend alone once more.

“What's going on, Steve?" Bucky paused the barest of seconds, then sighed, "it's Nat isn't it? Today's the anniversary. _Shit_."

Steve walked into the locker room, heading directly for his belongings, slamming the metal door open until it screeched, almost careening off its hinges. He wasn’t in the mood for careful and his locker was bearing the brunt of it. Fury would not replace another one. He looked down at his shaking, blood stained hands.

“I couldn't save her.” He ground out, glad they were alone, the others already cleaned up and enjoying their down time. Steve couldn’t remember a time where he wasn’t fighting, whether it be other people, aliens or his own demons. “I couldn't even find her in the timeline.”

“We, Steve, _we_ couldn’t. It’s not all on you. It never was.”

Broken, Steve looked up to find Bucky close, leaning in, his hand resting on Steve’s shoulder, squeezing; and he’d not even noticed the touch, numb as he was. The weight familiar in a way a dream was, trying to grasp the tenuous moments before you woke, then forgetting everything when your eyes opened. He wasn’t the boy from Brooklyn who Bucky always tried to save. No one could do that now.

Yet it didn’t stop him from slumping onto a bench, legs finally giving way under his immense bulk, cradling his head in his hands, blinking back memories, vile, cold memories.

“None of us were worthy of Natasha. Not one of us. She was our light, our guiding source, the one who held it all together during the blip.” Steve wanted to add that Bucky had been all those things for Steve too, prior and after the snap, but he didn’t, he choked on the words, swallowed them down. Just because Bucky was his everything, didn’t mean he had to tell him that. It wouldn’t be fair. The pressure of Steve’s love, his wants, his unworthy devotion. 

Bucky sat next to him, too close, but Steve felt himself unconsciously sway into his heat, his essence, what he offered so freely that Steve refused to take. It was akin to sitting in the suns’ full rays, he wanted to stare into the brightness but knew if he did he’d lose sight of everything, be blinded by the warmth, the colours, everything Bucky possessed.

“I’m sorry you were left here, fighting for all those years. I know you don’t want to hear this, but you need to cherish those years with her, remember her, not do this. The Natasha I heard about would not want you to kill yourself over her death, her sacrifice.”

Steve clenched his fists wanting to argue, to yell and curse against Bucky’s words, but he knew they were true, yet how did he live with it? It bubbled inside of him constantly, everything at once. The good memories were so entwined with the bad and he couldn’t untangle them, the moment he felt pleasure, pain would ride in, it’s claws reaching blindly, digging in until Steve couldn’t breathe. Sometimes he wished that instead of coming back after placing the stones in their rightful homes that he’d just disappeared, left everyone to their lives, without his incompetence.

He was selfish though, ultimately always had been, because he couldn’t leave Bucky. Could never leave Bucky, and that was to his detriment.

“She’s gone though Buck. Her light extinguished on an alien planet, with no one there to mourn her, help her, except Clint. And even _he_ couldn’t get her body, bring her back home.”

Steve took in a ragged breath, glad Bucky said nothing. Platitudes of ‘things happen for the greater good’ or ‘it was the way it was supposed to be’ made him furious and ready to attack, to tear shreds off any who dared try and make Natasha’s death a plot line in an awfully scripted movie. What about _their_ good, the teams, his. 

He'd had Natasha’s friendship for long enough that he felt a part of himself had been engulfed in grief, that part now eaten away, the brains, the level head, the ruthlessness, and he'd not even got to say goodbye. Never had a chance. The regret welled up once again and this time he couldn’t stop it, making itself known by the tear tracks on his face. Bucky’s nearness breaking something inside of him, knowing he was safe, that he _knew_ Steve, probably better than he knew himself. 

“How bout I come past tonight, cook up some soda bread and stew, something familiar?”

“Do you mean bring round Thai?” Steve quipped, finding the joke falling flat. He’d tried.

Bucky still chuckled, ‘yeah, punk, that’s exactly what I meant. How bout it?”

Honestly, it sounded perfect, but he was itchy, his skin too taut over his frame, his brain still jumbled and senses full of blood and fear. He had to get rid of it the only way he’d found worked; and having Bucky near him - he wouldn’t be able to resist, and resist he had to.

“Got plans sorry, another time,” he stood up, leaving the comfort of Bucky’s scent, his stillness that calmed the chaos within and walked to the shower.

“Plans can be changed,” Bucky tried, but Steve ignored him in favour of stripping off perfunctionarily and stepped under the needle like spray of scalding water, trying to burn his sins, his failures away.

Steve didn’t turn when Bucky walked from the room. It was for the best.

  
  


Glancing at the time, Steve saw he had almost an hour before his meet up with Dave, knowing he’d have to be better at remembering his name, already stumbling over it in his head too many times. But ultimately Steve knew it didn’t matter what he called him, it wasn’t more than a moment in time, a need, raw and unfeeling. Well for him. He was too scared to feel, to let it in, knowing a floodgate somewhere, somehow would loosen. So it was easier to ignore it. Swallow down anything that tasted minutely of emotions.

The knock on his door unexpected, startling him from his ever present morose thoughts, Steve was meeting Daniel… Dave, at a hotel nearby, he never brought anyone home, hadn’t entertained for the last year, no one except...

“Steve, open up.”

Bucky.

_Fuck._

Steve thought about ignoring him, pretending he wasn’t home.

“I can hear you breathing in there, I’m serum enhanced too, you moron.” Bucky said through the door with a bite of sarcasm only a true friend could get away with. It made something churn in Steve’s gut. He was only barely hanging on to his needs, he shouldn’t invite Bucky in. Not when he was so close to losing control of his senses, ready to react on instinct.

“Jesus, Steve, just open the door, it’s drafty in the hall.”

Sighing, and having no real choice, Steve opened the door and Bucky breezed past, the smell of hot sauce and chilli wafting from a plastic bag hanging off his metal wrist. He closed his eyes as he shut the door, willing himself into the correct frame of mind.

“Couch? Doco on sealife, the new one by what's-his-name?”

Nodding, Steve went and grabbed a couple of sets of chopsticks and sat down on the far end of the couch, Bucky sat directly next to him, frazzling his nerve endings as he sat too close. Inhaling through his mouth so as not to capture Bucky’s unique, familiar and quite frankly mesmerising scent, he took the proffered food and dug in, his body craving the nourishment he’d so aptly denied it.

“S’good,” he managed, and at Bucky’s grin that hid behind the noodles he currently slurped, Steve attempted to tamper down the satisfaction at pleasing Bucky. It was a path too treacherous to linger on for long. Yes, he had Bucky back, though not the same as before, more sarcastic, harder, but always his Bucky. And Steve had changed just as much, but in different ways, not complimentary either, the last six years had been rough, soul destroying, but Bucky had done so well to pull himself from the nightmares and Steve couldn’t drag him down to live in his. It was best for both of them if Steve put some distance between them. But not enough to be noticeable. Pretending to be fine, to keep Bucky at arms distance was exhausting, and if Steve needed anything like another hole in the head, it was something else to lament over and be tired about.

The alarm on his phone pinged and he caught the scowl on Bucky’s face before he flicked a finger across the screen, silencing the sharp noise. He’d completely forgotten in the comfort of Bucky’s presence about his plans, but as soon as his mind touched on it, the urge built up immediately. Making motions to get up, he rode the anticipation of feeling something, rather than nothing, the relief he’d soon find, the need slaked only by being buried deep inside someone. 

“I should -”

“- no, not again.”

“Buck,” Steve warned, voice dipping into a confrontational tone.

“Steve, you’re not the only one that feels useless, pent up… like _this_ . And once again I can’t watch you go... I can’t see you with... it’s never me… _why_?”

The air in Steve’s lungs evaporated as the pleading word faded into nothing, and he couldn’t help but look at Bucky, really stare at him. What he saw instilled a fragile fear deep in his bones. He knew that look, knew it well - he’d seen it on his face enough times.

Steve allowed himself the barest few seconds to worry through his response. How he could articulate everything swirling around in his brain? Explain the helplessness he’d lived through, knowing he’d let down another friend, allowing them to fall and he’d not been there. Steve was fallible and had no right to drag others into the abyss with him. But when it came to verbalising that to Bucky, he landed on something unexpectedly simple instead.

“I’m scared that if I start with you, I won’t be able to stop.”

Bucky blinked once and Steve swept a hand over his face, shutting out the wide slate grey eyes that held his trapped in their intensity, their wonder. 

“Is that such a bad thing?” Bucky finally whispered, a solid warm hand falling on his knee, startling him, ripping Steve’s heart from his chest still beating and bloody, he couldn’t. No, he was not worthy, not of _Bucky’s_ attention.

“You and me against the world. Always has been, Stevie. In this too, I thought that was painfully obvious. I’m here, I’m not going anywhere again. I promise.”

“Don’t. Don’t promise me things you can’t conceivably know. I can’t lose…” Steve’s voice cracked and the shaky inhale rattled in his chest, “I don’t want to hurt you.”

The small almost sarcastic smile on Bucky’s lips made Steve’s heartbeat flutter. Steve didn’t mean physically, and he could tell that Bucky once again cut him to the quick and understood his unspoken words. He was starting to lose any and all resolve he’d maintained for the last year, falling into Bucky’s confidence, and he knew he shouldn’t, but there were stronger men than him out there. Because once more Steve was failing.

Bucky’s hand flew out, grabbing Steve’s phone, pushing the power button to cease the message tones that had started thick and fast, Steve not really hearing them, the rush in his ears too great. Sitting on the precipice of change had dulled his senses, made him reckless.

“I have the serum too. And yeah I know it’s not the same as yours, but I’m the only one on the planet that is close to you in physicality. Don't tell me you can be as rough with these other _people_ as you know you can be with me?”

“Please…” Steve tried, attempted, then berated himself as he could feel the wall of restraint creaking, ready to tumble down in a haze of dust and debris.

“Use _me_ to work out the pain.” The pleading tone along with Bucky’s fingers gripping his knee tighter, painfully, and Steve could feel it, could feel Bucky’s intent clear as day. Steve was suddenly the prey caught in Bucky's scope, pinned by the ruthless intent behind the eyes of a killer - laid bare. But Steve wasn't scared of finding out what he looked like through Bucky's eyes, he was downright terrified.

Nothing good could come from this.

“Why?” He struggled out through a tight throat, uneasiness and desire warring in his gut. 

“Christ, Steve. I'd felt nothing for so long, for too many years. I want to feel again, but only if it's with you. I _trust_ you, only you. And I think I can offer the same relief in return, if you'll have me."

Steve was stunned to hear Bucky felt that way, that he too, was empty inside, that he wanted Steve to give him back something, even just physically. His resolve disappeared between one blink and the next, and the storm within finally let loose.

" _Fuck_ ," before he made a conscious decision to move, Steve's hand was already tangled in the hair at the base of Bucky’s neck. He held for a second, watching for anything remiss, then yanked the strands until Bucky’s face was exposed completely to him. The gasp it elicited gratifying, absolving, and he stopped a mere inch away, breathing heavily, feeling the puff of Bucky’s exhales against his lips. 

Staring deeply into Bucky's eyes Steve felt his expression harden, while Bucky’s slackened. This was the best worst idea in the world.

“Can I?” Steve husked, always asking permission, needing Bucky’s consent in all things, would never take his choice away. Bucky’s eyes slid shut for the barest second before they opened, intent and sure.

“Yes," Bucky whispered before licking his lips, Steve's stomach swooping in anticipation.

Steve didn't waste a second, smashing their mouths together, it was brutal, cruel and Bucky sunk into Steve as if he belonged there, had always been there. And he had - Steve had just chosen to ignore it.

Pushing his tongue into Bucky's mouth, he took what he'd been craving, hearing the small moans of want deep in Bucky's chest, rising up his throat into Steve's mouth, where he swallowed it down, every last sound. Bucky's grip on his knee tensed before he lifted his hand up to grasp Steve's shoulder, and that's when he wrenched himself away. Needing a second before they went too far.

Releasing Bucky, his fingers untangling from his hair, they sat back from each other, panting, staring, and Steve wanted to say it felt wrong, that he couldn't do it, but something hungry in his chest clawed its way up his throat, the thrill of feeling alive for the first time in years rode him. If ten minutes of kissing Bucky gave him that back, what would fucking him do?

Steve knew that he had to find out. And that's what worried him.

"Bedroom?" Bucky husked, a promise in the depths of his wide blown eyes and Steve reached up to cup his cheek, the rough calluses of his fingertips catching on his skin. The small movement of Bucky leaning into the touch, enough for Steve's chest to pulse erratically, the knowledge that what they were about to undertake would change everything. Forever.

"Once we walk into that room, you're mine. Do you understand?"

Bucky nodded, then before Steve could reprimand him for not speaking out loud, Bucky clarified with words. "I know, Steve. I know what you need and I want that too. I'm yours."

Steve's thumb twitched as it ran over Bucky's cheek, the skin weather beaten, used and abused, yet it was the most glorious face he'd ever looked upon. There was something real about Bucky that was missing with anyone else he'd tried connecting with. Fucking. He should just call it fucking, any connection beyond that was non existent.

"I can't promise you anything more than this, Buck. But, I can guarantee in _that_ room, with me, I'll make you feel good, forget yourself, and I'll ensure you're safe and taken care of. If you don’t like anything I do - you tell me."

Bucky to his credit, mulled over the words, his hand coming up to rest over Steve's and Steve held his breath, waiting for rejection or salvation, he wasn't certain what would be the best outcome.

"I’m happy with whatever you can give," is what Bucky responded with, and Steve felt the curve of his mouth tilt upwards, the motion strange and foreign. Shocked when Bucky traced his fingers over his lips, Steve waited. "I haven't seen you smile in such a long time."

Before Steve's chest caved in with things he wasn't ready to deal with, he stood up and yanked Bucky to his feet. Steve didn't want to talk anymore, he needed control, he needed Bucky in his bedroom so he could take off his mask, be who he was now, where it didn't hurt during the moments of taking someone else's body in hand. Their willing body. _Bucky's_ body.

Steve though, once he got Bucky to his bedroom, changed tact, and it flummoxed him for a long moment. Usually he'd have ordered his partner to strip, to give him a show, unwrap the treat he would be burying himself into. But with Bucky he didn't want to do that.

He stood before his best friend, and with strong careful hands, started to undress Bucky. The long exhale Bucky let out, calming the storm of uncertainty within, he'd done the right thing. As each inch of skin was uncovered, Steve bent down, lips pressing against every exposed morsal, tongue flicking, teasing - biting.

Pushing aside the guilt that he shouldn’t be enjoying himself, that this was his penance, he found he wouldn’t have been able to stop himself even if he’d wanted to. Bucky was his treasure, each moan, gasp and twitch Steve would forever hold close to his chest, would carry it for always, know that _he’d_ elicited those reactions. Steve and no one else.

By the time Bucky was completely naked, cock heavy and hard between his thighs, looking delicious and ready for more, he once more did something unusual.

He touched Bucky’s hardness. 

Steve’s usual tact was to make his conquests come untouched, but he was unable to stop his fingertip running along the length of Bucky, across the slit, the shiver gratifying and Steve wanted more, he wanted to not only _own_ Bucky by pounding into him so everything blurred, he wanted to please Bucky, make him come, make him float, feel good, at peace, the one thing Steve craved for himself and never succeeded in accomplishing with any of his trysts. But he could try and give Bucky that. He wanted to.

“Can I wash you?”

Bucky’s gaze snapped to Steve’s, and he tried to hide his own surprise at the request. Steve hadn’t given any true orders yet, had been asking quietly for permission, but why? It hit him a second later; Bucky deserved a touch of softness, a touch that he wouldn’t flinch away from under the warm stream of water, someone who cared. Everything about the situation was different and Steve couldn’t find his footing, his usual sure steps into oblivion, into losing himself in sensation. Everything with Bucky had been a kaleidoscope of colours so far, not black and white how Steve enjoyed it.

Enjoyed it? Did he though? 

He didn’t have a chance to concern himself over answering a question he wasn’t sure he wanted the answer to, as Bucky nodded, lacing their fingers together, and pulled Steve to the bathroom, taking control of his movements. And that’s when he finally came back into himself.

Steve had a job to do.

Grasping Bucky’s bicep he placed him against the sink and started the shower, ensuring the heat wasn’t too much, not that it would matter to either of them, and he ignored the curl of fondness that slipped under his defenses as Bucky watched him, a small smile on his face, amused at Steve’s actions. So Steve thrust him without preamble under the spray.

‘Hands on the wall. Higher, Buck. Don’t make me ask again.” 

Bucky complied immediately, the pleased rumble that left Steve’s throat as he undressed making Bucky shiver, and Steve stalked over, placing his thigh between Bucky’s muscular ones and shifted his legs further apart with a shove.

“Perfect,” Steve whispered against the skin of Bucky’s neck, nipping at it, hands running up and down Bucky’s sides, water sluicing off them, loud against the white tiles. Slipping his hands around to Bucky’s torso, he felt the muscles tense minutely, but continued his sure strokes, up and over Bucky's pecs, down to his pelvis, never lower, just touching, enjoying the slide of his palms over wet skin. “You’re going to be so good for me, aren’t you?”

Bucky whined, and his head fell back, leaving more skin for Steve to lick and taste, “the best, only the best for you.”

Pleased, Steve bit lightly into the taut skin of Bucky's neck, at the same time as he grabbed his cock, squeezing, and Bucky’s entire body jerked, but Steve didn’t move his hand at all. He held on to Bucky's length, all while his other palm kept its relentless smoothing of Bucky’s chest, up to his metal shoulder, then down again. Bucky’s dick was the perfect weight, the perfect size and Steve wanted to taste it. Another anomaly. He never took his one night stands into the warmth of his mouth. But Steve knew Bucky would taste divine, and the craving for his unique saltiness hit Steve low in the gut. Licking another stripe up Bucky’s long neck, Steve finished at his sharp jawline, tongue lathing over the curve; then, still holding Bucky's dick firmly in his grip, Steve used his free hand to yank Bucky's jaw to the side, until Steve’s lips met his roughly.

His tongue pushed in, filling Bucky’s mouth until Bucky choked out a gasp, breathing through his nose rapidly at the angle, the pressure, and Steve finally, finally moved his dormant hand. One jerk, two, then a third with a twist at the end. 

Bucky’s dick, slippery and wet, giving Steve the perfect slide until Bucky's knees suddenly gave way, Steve holding him upright by his jaw and mouth alone. Bucky never took his hands off the wall. Not once.

 _Oh_ , Bucky was going to be delightful, the best Steve had ever been with. But…

No buts, Steve would take what was freely given, forget himself in the moment and worry about the later - later.

Halting the steady and brisk movements of his hand, Steve continued to take everything Bucky had left to give through his lips. Steve had no idea that kissing could be so erotic, so perfect, add so much to the entire experience. He usually used kisses as rewards, not really understanding how or why his partners craved them. But oddly, he found himself on the other side of the fence, wanting all of Bucky’s kisses, needing them as _his_ reward for making Bucky feel good. It was heady, confusing and it was _everything._

Not able to wait any longer, Steve flipped Bucky around, whose hands floundered, no longer having purchase on the wall, and he held them aloft while Steve smirked at his predicament. Bucky’s eyes darkened as he followed the movement of Steve’s lips and he couldn’t help it, he leaned forward and gave Bucky the softest, most featherlight kiss he’d ever gifted to anyone. Then as he moved away, he dropped to his knees, water crashing over his head, making it hard to see up, but he did. He looked up to see Bucky, hand over his face and a grimace of pleasure, of disbelief on his face. So pure and unrehearsed, Steve felt his heart thumping against his rib cage. Bucky was stunning - and all his.

“Look so good, Buck. Gonna taste even better.”

“Jesus, Stevie, you trying to kill me?”

And the endearment, the _nickname_ was enough to shatter Steve’s resolve, he leant forward flicking his tongue over the tip of Bucky, uncut and beautiful, the prettiest cock he’d ever seen. Something that he told Bucky, only to hear him groan again, complain that he wasn't even going to last a second. Steve didn’t care, a minute, three hours, he’d take it all.

Engulfing Bucky, he ran his tongue along the underside of his dick, before popping back off, then licking all around, sucking at the tip, and then taking him deeply - repeating the process over and over. Steve added his hand at the base to hold Bucky, to squeeze and stroke, to cup his balls, licking lower to take the sacs into his mouth and suck; the reaction from Bucky, a shout his neighbours might send help for.

“Fuck…” Bucky’s hands landed on Steve’s shoulders, not gripping, just resting and usually Steve wouldn’t like the sensation of being caged in, touched. But for the first time in too many years, he felt safe, that he could let go in this moment and Bucky would have his six.

Steve’s finger began to trace back behind Bucky's balls, the deafening roar of water in his ears, almost but not completely drowning out the small staccato breaths Bucky was trying to hide from Steve. But he couldn’t hide. Would never be able to again, Steve knew him too well.

Finding the tight ring of muscle, Steve pushed in a little, then moved out, circling around, feeling the quiver deep in Bucky's stomach against his forehead. He tried the movement again, the small gasp urging him in deeper after each circle, Bucky's cock twitching in his mouth at every breach, until Steve slid one wet slippery finger up to the second knuckle into Bucky’s heat, crooking his finger. The loud unholy whine torn from Bucky’s throat, a salve Steve hadn’t realised he needed.

Soon Steve was sucking Bucky down, three fingers deep, and that’s when Bucky came for the first time, fingers tightening on Steve’s shoulder, the warning from his throat a plea, almost lost, then his hips were jerking, Steve's mouth suddenly full of the sweetest ambrosia in the known world. He lapped up every drop, yet never removed his fingers from Bucky's ass. He kept them deep inside, feeling Bucky pulse around them as he came down, pulsing in pleasure, panting from his release.

Steve couldn’t wait to be buried inside Bucky. And he didn’t have to. Bucky was his, would do anything Steve wanted, anything he demanded - ordered. And _fuck_ didn’t that push something inside Steve to the edge, to the precipice.

Standing up, Steve placed Bucky over his shoulder as he rose, fingers still deep in him, pressing in and out of his heat, fucking him slowly, feeling Bucky’s breath on his back as he curled over Steve’s shoulder. The added weight of Bucky was nothing to Steve, yet it felt like everything. Shutting off the water Steve strode towards the bed in the next room, carefully sitting, wet and excruciatingly hard, then lowered Bucky until he was on his stomach, Steve's fingers still stretching him wide, readying him until Steve lost his reasoning. He was already aching to be so deep inside Bucky that he couldn’t think, could only feel.

The small whimpers of pleasure as Steve grabbed the lube pouring it liberally over his fingers inside Bucky's stretched hole, enough so it ran in rivulets down Bucky’s ass onto the bed, made the edge of his vision blurry. He'd never wanted anything as desperately as he did right in that moment. Each thrust Steve gave, coated his fingers more and more, the lube spreading inside of Bucky.

Sure they were supersoldiers and Bucky in a pinch could take Steve dry without permanent damage, but Steve didn’t want to do that, to hurt Bucky in that way; Steve wanted to protect him at all costs.

Swiping as much lube on his hardness as he could one-handed, he finally got up on his knees, ready to remove his fingers and finally replace them with his dick, to slam into Bucky until Steve felt nothing but his pleasure, but he didn’t. Something stopped him and he faltered.

“Steve?” Bucky’s wrecked voice came smothered from the comforter.

“Turn around.” Steve found himself saying, voice dry and scratchy, uttering unfamiliar words in such a familiar situation.

With heavy limbs, Bucky spun as best he could, while Steve unhelpfully tried to find his footing again, fingers slipping free, Bucky hissing from the loss.

“This what you want?” Bucky asked quietly, clearly sensing the change of mood. Steve stared down into eyes more familiar than his own, the raw desire reflected back, the want, the love. No, he wouldn’t, couldn’t do that to Bucky. Couldn’t force that emotion on him, Steve was broken. Everyone knew that. “ _Steve_ , please.”

It was Bucky’s pleading that brought him back into his head, to stop the cascading thoughts, and he knew. Bucky always knew, and the soft smile he gave Steve, sated and pleased made Steve lean down, fall into a kiss, lining himself up. Bucky of course anticipated Steve's next move, raising his legs, giving Steve all the room in the world.

And that's when Steve pushed in, catching on Bucky's rim for one glorious second, before sliding forward into heat, inch by inch until he was sheathed deeply. Staring down into Bucky's wide eyes he ground his hips in circles when he could press in no further, ensuring Bucky took everything he had.

The sigh and the way Bucky’s eyes fluttered to the back of his head had Steve catching his breath in reverence. He’d never been like this, this _not_ in control when fucking someone. Yet somehow Steve knew he wouldn’t be classing this as a fuck. He should. But he wouldn’t.

Dragging his cock out of Bucky’s heat, his tightness, Steve found himself trying to catch Bucky’s eye again but unable to; his gaze too sketchy. Leaning forward, Steve placed his huge arms either side of Bucky’s head, trapping him so he had no choice but to meet Steve’s eyes. And only then as Steve watched Bucky’s pupil get swallowed up, he slammed back in deep, deeper than possible, deeper than he’d ever been in anyone.

Steve stopped, not moving, buried so far in Bucky he was lost, losing himself in the hot wet tightness. Sex had never been so intense in his life, his perception of the world shifting, tilting as grey blue eyes bored into his, full of desire and want - for Steve. 

Bucky squirmed after a few seconds, seeking friction, wanting more. Steve didn’t relent to the whining plea, nor give in to his baser urges; instead he pulled out slowly, the shared stare still unbroken, then thrust back in hard with a thud. Stopping again.

He kept up the insane pace, relentless in his timing; Bucky’s entire frame jerking with every pulse, every thrust, pleading, begging for Steve to go faster, to not tease, and Steve felt the power, the control and with that in mind, let go. Let himself feel again. Everything rushed back in, threatening to drown him, a loud cacophony of noise in his ears. But as he tried to temper the over stimulation, he still watched Bucky’s face closely, seeing how every movement brought him pleasure, made him gasp, made him writhe and ask for more. And it grounded Steve, allowed him to compartmentalise and keep on task, not lose himself completely.

Bucky _was_ his saviour.

The realisation shocked him to the core.

“Steve, please… more… I need…”

The moment was taken out of his hands as instinct took over, Steve unable to stop himself. Pummelling into Bucky, he gave him exactly what he’d been begging for, satiating his craving, what he’d asked of Steve. He was completely powerless to deny Bucky anything. 

Bucky’s body went limp and Steve took control, heaving in deep gasps of air as he used Bucky, his body, taking his pleasure, finding it for the first time throughout his body _and_ mind. But Steve didn’t just _use_ Bucky in the sense of the word, he took what Bucky gifted to him, and Steve wasn’t certain he wouldn’t be seeking it again and again. His resolve was paper thin.

All through it Bucky called out, telling Steve he felt so good, that he was big and heavy and felt just right, buried deep, filling him. And it was those words, coupled with the tightening of Bucky’s hole around him, that Steve realised he was about to come, and quickly. That was also unprecedented.

He slipped a hand between them, starting to jerk Bucky as he kept thrusting, his pace faltering, he was too close, the tingling beginning in his toes and starting to spread, but just as it threatened to take over, Bucky was coming between them with a cry, jerking and leaving a mess, his quivering hole milking Steve’s orgasm from him as he bellowed his release.

As they both came down, Steve rested his forehead against Bucky’s, eyes closed, breathing in deeply, sharing air, and was surprised to feel the soft press of lips against his.

Steve’s eyes flew open and he moved back, gaining space between his face and Bucky’s, but he didn’t get far. Hard fingers tangled in his hair and Bucky’s metal hand pulled Steve’s face back down, Bucky’s lips capturing his, kissing with pressure and intent and Steve felt himself freefalling, having nothing to grab hold of. Nothing but Bucky, and reach out he did, surprising himself.

He eventually pulled himself out of Bucky’s heat when he gained his mouth back, and quickly without a backwards glance and a slight panic clawing up his throat, he went to the bathroom to grab a warm washcloth, coming back to wipe Bucky down, clean him. But instead of a languid sated mess, Steve was surprised to find Bucky sitting on the edge of the bed gingerly.

“Hey, you shouldn’t move just yet, here, do you want me to clean you?”

Bucky gave him a small uncertain smile, holding his eyes a moment. Steve held up the cloth and hoped his face showed that he wanted Bucky to listen to him, obey his question and obviously seeing something deep in his eyes, Bucky rolled back over, exposing his ruined ass to Steve. He inhaled his tongue at the sight, the puffiness, the wonder that he’d been snug in there moments ago, his small strangled cough eliciting a smirk out of Bucky.

“Be gentle,” Bucky teased, well he hoped he was teasing.

“I didn’t hurt you did I?”

The chuckle making Steve’s chest loosen, clearly he’d not damaged anything if Bucky was alright enough to be giving him sass. So instead, he concentrated on cleaning Bucky, dabbing at the skin, seeing the inviting gape almost winking at him, teasing him for a second round, and Steve was still hard, tended to be able to go three or four rounds in one night. But this was a once only situation, he couldn’t get addicted to Bucky, any more than he already was.

“Is this how you treat all your one night stands?” Bucky whispered into the pillow, face down so Steve couldn’t see his expression.

Faltering, Steve answered honestly, not sure what Bucky was wanting to know, “no, no it's not.”

“Oh,” was all the reply he received, until Bucky’s hand grasped at the discarded lube bottle near his head and held it back up towards Steve, face still averted, “go again please. I want you to fill me up until I can't remember my name.”

“Jesus fucking christ, Buck,” Steve whispered, stunned. God he couldn’t, could he?

“Please, Stevie…” 

And who was Steve to deny Bucky anything he asked for, especially when he begged so prettily. So Steve took what was offered, knowing with every touch, kiss, caress and slide of his dick between Bucky’s lips or ass meant he was falling into the abyss, never to return. And somehow Steve wondered if maybe, it was time to heal, let himself be Steve again.

  
  


Six hours later and with more orgasms under both their belts than they could count, Bucky rolled over, exhausted, red, messy and almost noncomposs, while Steve tried to remain impassive, unfeeling under Bucky’s gaze, when his entire body shook from feeling _too_ much. 

“You’re thinking Rogers, I can tell. Can hear it from here.” Bucky said with a tired tilt to his mouth, a mouth Steve had defiled over and over again. He averted his gaze quickly.

"What is this? What we just did?" Steve asked; the question shocking him, he'd not meant to ask, hadn’t meant to sound so desperate, wasn’t sure he wanted to know the answer.

Bucky's finger trailed a path up Steve's bicep before squeezing it comfortingly, just about undoing Steve's resolve, the kindness in the touch, the reverence. He didn't deserve it, but by Christ did he want it. "It’s whatever you need it to be, Pal."

Steve sat on that a moment, his own eyes skittish, not landing anywhere too long until Bucky’s fingers tightened until pain blasted through Steve’s arm, and his gaze fell back to his best friend, who was so much more now. How had the last eight hours changed every single one of his previously rock solid ideals, his way of living, of dealing? Or not dealing.

"And if I can't give you up?" The whispered words in the soft darkness of the room, soft, exploratory and something he never should have uttered.

"Then that's perfectly fine by me, because I don't want you to. Ever again."

Steve rolled into Bucky, his face finding the crook of his neck, inhaling deeply, memorising his after sex scent, wanting to bask in it forever, and realised with a clarity he’d not felt in years, that he could have this. And he found his large frame moving further to wrap around his oldest friend, his closest compatriot, the love of his life, and he cried.

He cried for everything he'd lost, the people, the memories, the choices he’d made and he also cried for everything he'd found and as the sobs subsided he felt Bucky's hands trailing up and down his back, whispering words of love, devotion and calmness and although the guilt still wracked him, Steve felt the strings tethering his pain start to loosen.

He wanted to heal, he wanted to be better, _do_ better. Steve needed to if he ever wanted a chance at true redemption.

  
  


Bucky accompanied him on his sessions, sometimes Steve asked him to come in so they could share their experiences with his psychologist, explain what they were to each other and how that had changed over the years from what they’d lost then found again; and sometimes he took Bucky to just to sit outside, take Steve for a coffee to unwind after. He spoke about what they were forging ahead with, their future together and how Steve could equip himself with better tools to deal with his grief and losses from years past. He’d even opened up about the loss of Tony, a man who’d been a friend, the resentment of years festering between them just before they’d started to explore forgiveness prior to his death. 

But the most progress came from talking about Natasha and what she’d meant to Steve, to the team, to everyone. The impact of her no longer being there on Steve and why he found it so hard to move on.

Yet, Steve found he could do it all, try to face every fear and doubt if he had Bucky by his side, and he’d almost lost the chance to have it, to be with him, to accept his love and devotion and unwavering support.

But if Steve Rogers had learned anything over the years it was to never tell him the odds, because he had a way of beating them. And for the first time in a long time, he was fighting for himself, for what he wanted. And it felt… good.

Steve heard the door to the apartment open and close quietly, then footsteps landed directly outside the room.

"You okay? How was today's session?" Bucky asked and Steve looked down into his hands again, a small Russian made blade in them, turning over and over, staring at the angles, the sharpness, the pure brutality of such an innocuous weapon. It was Natasha's favourite knife.

"I need to say goodbye," he managed.

"I know." Bucky replied and came to kneel before Steve, hands covering his, stopping the inspection of the knife.

"Her funeral was nothing, it was a token, a joke."

"I know," Bucky said once more, his fingers tightening around Steve's and he relished in the sharp pain he felt from Bucky's metal fingers.

"It was an empty box and even emptier words. She would have hated every second of the pomp and circumstance surrounding it."

Bucky was quiet for a long time.

"So let's say goodbye," Bucky finally said with a small smile and Steve couldn't help fall into its brilliance and he was so blessed to have Bucky, _his_ Bucky by his side, allowing Steve the time to heal, to be rough and to sometimes be uncaring, although he always did. Impossibly so, on occasion.

So they spent a week, talking to her friends on the old Avengers team, disbanded for good, but still keeping in relative touch. And it was good, after so many years of pushing her memory aside, or forcing himself to relive her pain and death over and over, it felt cleansing to remember her, reminiscing on the good days, though few and far between, her humour, her life, her energy never forgotten.

But he still wasn't able to save her, and he had to somehow live with that knowledge. He was trying.

In the end the last stop on Steve's tour was Coney Island. A place Nat and Steve had visited together after he'd woken up and before they'd got Bucky back. It wasn't their place per se, but she enjoyed seeing Steve wide-eyed and telling stories, bittersweet tales of yesteryear, and at some point it had also become a place they'd disappeared to together if they needed.

He and Bucky walked the boards a while in silence, not talking about their shared past memories, they weren't there for that. Instead Steve would point out areas that he and Nat had visited, had looked at, had laughed with each other.

"Can you give me a second," Steve asked all of a sudden, eyes drifting over to where he'd stand with Nat at the railing, leaning against it, talking about everything and nothing, her green eyes slanted up to watch him in amusement as she gave him grief about his age.

Bucky's hands were suddenly on either side of his face, pulling him from his thoughts, holding him, dragging him into the present. Lips soft, chapped and cold met his own and he melted for a second into it.

"Take all the time you need. I'm here and I'm not going anywhere. Not ever again."

Steve left one more hard press of his lips against Bucky, then abandoned his warmth behind.

Thoughts of Natasha crowded his mind as he started to walk.

Coney Island boulevard was deserted. A frigid wind whipped at his legs and if he were any other man, a man who could still feel the cold, he might want to keep moving. But he wasn't. So he didn't. Steve huddled in his coat, the collar upturned, as he leant against a metal barrier looking out towards a churning grey sea. 

“I love you. I’m so sorry,” he said, but the wind snatched his words into silence.

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> I hope you liked this take on these boys.
> 
> But we move back to more familiar ground with next week's AU fic. It's my interpretation on soulmates ❤️
> 
> I'm on the below if you ever want to chat about anything - I'm nice - I promise!
> 
> Tumblr -[ kalee60](https://kalee60.tumblr.com)  
> Twitter - @kalee60_


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